Timothy Lawton

8/20/2000

I feel moved by the spirit, but don’t know where
Foolish confusion and ridiculous despair
Yet, I’m not fool enough to believe I’m fine
Or, that I can figure a way out
So, the easy answer is to say that you leave it up to God
The hard part is allowing that to happen
If I fail to question my faith is it lost?
If I fail to think all evil emanates from me, have I sinned?
I feel moved by the spirit, but I can’t discern the wind
Isolated in a crowd eyes whipping all about
Is it me or is it them?
I shouldn’t feel this way again and again

7/12/1997

If in the universe we’re not alone
God is still sure not to lose his throne
And if the pathfinder should happen to find some roads
The scientists can no better explain it when it’s raining toads
Or fish, nuts, and blood
But, now I’m off on a tangent
The hand asked where the phalange went
And who sent in the Marines
All those jellyfish and whales washing up on the beach
Where the universe show is shown on a dark clear night
Beach blankets, butts, and beer followed by a macho fight
When they don’ care what was wrong or what went right
Only once have I had a U.F.O. in my sight
But, I don’t think I’ll ever forget that scene
Someone else saw who I didn’t know and had never seen
Such a sight out of site a pink trail of light
But, maybe we are in the universe alone
And god is sure not to lose his throne
Because all paths through the mind find the same road
Doing me no good in explaining how or why it’s raining toads
Or, bombs, guts and blood
But, now I’m off on a tangent
The hand asked where the phalange went
And who sent in the Marines
All that blood and guts washing up on the beach
Where the society show is shown on explosive nights
To keep anything saving one has to fight
Distraction on my left and desire on my right
We have only one life to be a light
And I can’t let myself forget what that means
The things that I’ve been shown the things that I’ve seen
Such a life, spirit sight God’s fire in the night
And if only one calls the universe his own
Love is the cause and substance of his throne

8/30/2000

Troubled plagued by the same old thing
Thought for another poem cause for another drink
The struggle is constant the pain unceasing
Like a condemned man who keeps believing
There’ll be a reprieve
How much greater is the frustration of other men
Who have not my mind and faith their wounds to tend?
For both my mind and faith have been thoroughly tested
Yet, my pain is strong and my endurance invested
Yes, this is the ink with which man scripts his travails
Cursing the sky and cursing his Creator with wretched wails
Where we truly fail

9/21/2000

What is a day and what is a life?
But time passed an experience had
How can one spend a moment?
In countless ways in countless waste
Or, in beautiful understanding
Choices
Choice is our dagger
Choice is our love
Sipping delirious imagination
Caught within the jaws of expectant machinations
Biting the hand that feeds us
Bleeding the blood that leads us
Sin
A moment spent away from God
A time of the past an experience had
How then can we fill our moments?
Human being in spiritual being
Going beyond the self accepting God’s help
Because a maze is best known by the hand that made it

7/9/1997

There is murder in my heart, but it’s not a sin
Not because I have some sick justification for my mad impulse
Not because some delusion has driven my mind beyond reason
But, rather, because what I want to kill deserves to die
Deserves to wither in an ignominious decay
Deserves to be destroyed with all the fury with which some pestilential beast should be annihilated
Have you ever noticed how much of the world is vile?
How much of the world needs to be detested in the most vigorous manner
With a heart of pure hatred, despairing no place to harbor some distant pity
For you see there is still much left of the beauty that has been spawned by the hand of our creator
Yet, this is just why I have murder in my heart
For that which I wish to kill wants to savor the blood of that beauty
Savor that blood as prey in its’ carnivorous mouth
If it was only for that one brief moment that I was driven in a fit of passion to turn and slay this wretched beast, I would say that I wanted to kill it
But, no, rather I would say for years I’ve been planning this act
Plotting this design
I have sat seething, pondering how I will ambush my victim
How I will tear at his flesh and slice to his bones
How the warmth of its’ blood will roll over my fingers and I will smile in triumphant victory at the moment his heart ceases to beat and the last vestige of life crawls out of his breast in a sputtering wind and he is no more
No, I must use the term murder
Murder in the first degree
Premeditated as no crime has ever been before
Long in detail, brutal in action, painful in its’ honesty, like some Russian novel
For this beast hovers in the air
Its’ face is in the rocks and on the grass
His smell is in the ocean and he can be seen in every tree, animal, man, woman, and child
He lingers outside the bar and on the city street corner
He works on Wall St. and collects welfare checks in his project apartment
He is the mother that kills her infant child
He is the chemical plant along the Great Lakes shore
He is the priest that fancies altar boys and the rapist who lurks in a dark alley waiting for the image of his dominating mother to pass by
This beast laughs when the clouds that were threatening rain shatter into a blue sky over the drought parched land
He laughs when bitterness and anger flow from every pen and tremble in the guitarists’ hand
He tells stories about heroes that warm the heart and give patriots tears
He ruins the rain when puddles flow with rainbow streaks of oil and gas
He leaves a dirty film of soot that covers the world in his putrid grin
Yes, I have murder in my heart murder in the depth of my soul
Murder when he seeks to confuse murder when he gives us choices to choose
Do I want a cigarette or a beer?
Will I have sex with my wife or some transvestite queer?
Will I buy milk or a lottery ticket?
Can I have a big screen T.V. and a ten car garage?
Or, should I just buy the best and use my credit card to pay the rest?
Some other day
Should I stay straight or shoot up my veins go on methadone or take valume for the pain?
That fills my waking moments
I feel murder in my heart but it’s not a sin
Because I want to kill myself because I’ve let him in
I’ve let him give me hopes and dreams
Asked him to fulfill my wants and satiate my needs
I’ve let him fill my mind with conceit
I’ve begged him to give me a chance to be me
Me, when I want to be enraptured in the flesh of a well proportioned woman
Me, when I want coffee, butts, and bones in compulsive potions
Me, when I want to smash the face of every bastard who’s ever pissed me off
Me, when I want to taste good food, or see a new mountain, or another ocean
Me, when I hope to acquire the means, use, and memory of every desire that I’ve ever had
Yes, I have murder in my heart
And if I want to kill the beast it’s no sin
For it was with me that I was forced to start